I never thought I’d be that mom, the one hiding in the bathroom. But here we are.

It was one of those days that started wrong and kept spiraling. My youngest woke up at 3 a.m. and never went back to sleep. By morning, I was already exhausted, and of course, my toddler decided that was the day to pour an entire box of cereal on the floor.

By noon, the baby was screaming, the toddler was sticky from head to toe (don’t ask me how), and I burned the rice I was trying to cook. The smell of smoke, a crying baby, a wailing toddler, it was too much. I could actually feel my chest tightening.

So, I grabbed my phone, walked into the bathroom, and locked the door.

For a few minutes, I sat there on the cold tiles, just breathing. Then I started scrolling Instagram, watching other moms post “picture-perfect” moments with their smiling kids and tidy homes. And you know what? For the first time, instead of feeling jealous or guilty, I laughed. Actually laughed. Because behind every spotless living room is probably a bathroom door someone locked just to survive the day.

But here’s the part that still gets me: while I was in there, I heard my toddler knocking on the door. She didn’t ask for food or toys. She just said, “Mommy, are you okay?”

And I broke. I cried the ugly cry, right there in the bathroom, because no, I wasn’t okay. I was tired, overwhelmed, and stretched thin. But in that moment, hearing her little voice, I also realized something, my kids don’t need me to be perfect. They just need me to be real, even if real means crying on the bathroom floor sometimes.

I came out eventually, wiped my face, and we ate burnt rice with too much stew. It wasn’t pretty, but it was ours.

So yes, I locked myself in the bathroom that day. Not because I didn’t love my kids, but because I needed to love myself enough to take a breath. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what survival looks like sometimes.